Page 32 of Zeus

"Lyle?" the guy says, lip twitching. "You look angry."

I lean forward, knowing what is expected of my personality.

"I don't like being fucking summoned in the middle of the night," I growl. "Now, we show up, you've got an attitude, and then we're sitting here with our backs to the door. How would you feel, Gene?"

I may not have much experience with this group in particular, but I'm not a stranger to fucking assholes in the wild. It would be suspicious if we showed up with fucking smiles and acted too eager to listen to what they have to say.

His grin grows as he sits back, fingers twiddling with an empty straw wrapper.

"You're safe here," he assures me, his smile looking more like a snarl, his teeth yellowed. I swear the guy has a chunk of breakfast attached to his eyetooth.

Casper informed us earlier that, after using some facial recognition software from the hidden camera on our front porch, this guy is possibly a recruiter for the group. He may be a little higher in the organization than others, but it's very unlikely that he's close enough to the top to make real decisions. Knowing that irritates me.

I feel like I'm sitting for a job interview, all the while knowing I need to get on with the company, but wishing I had made different choices in life than the ones that put me here.

I huff in disagreement with our safety and feel more than a little relieved when he shifts his attention to Zayne.

"I noticed you at the rally yesterday," the man says, and it makes me wonder how many people they had lurking in the shadows. I don't recall seeing this guy at all. "You drew a lot of attention."

"Wasn't my intention," Zayne responds.

"I'm not saying it was a bad thing," Gene clarifies. "People seemed to gravitate to you. That's not exactly a bad thing. You're very charismatic."

I keep my face and body still, but part of me wants to nod. I noticed the exact same thing about him yesterday, and despite him being a little different now as a grown man, there was always something that seemed magnetic about him when we were younger. It's what drew me to him in the first place. I know him to be a trustworthy man, someone people felt safe around. He was never one to whisper and gossip about people. Not once did I ever worry he'd go to school and tell people what we were doing. I don't think even Dakota suspected anything more than friendship between the two of us.

"Not hard to do when I'm speaking about things I believe in."

"The League of Liberty would like to offer you a job," the man says, a rush in his tone that makes me cautious about why he's blurting it rather than letting the conversation naturally go that direction.

Zayne sits back in the booth, back pressed firmly against the split vinyl as he stares at the man, a long pause filling the empty space between them. His eyes narrow as he takes the man in again before he speaks.

"Is it legal?" Zayne asks.

Gene's smile grows even wider as he leans forward as if there's a secret on his lips.

"On paper," he answers, a challenge in his eyes. I don't know if he's daring Zayne to work for them, knowing he'll be doing illegal work, or if he’s testing him to see how far he'll go altogether.

Zayne relaxes a little, a familiar coy smile on his face, as he taps his fingers on the table top to a beat only he knows.

"Can't have you getting in trouble with your parole officer and going back to prison, can we?" Gene asks, his face transitioning to what can only be described as a taunt, as if he wants Zayne to question how he would even know that information.

"You guys really do your research," Zayne mutters. "You know so much about me, and I don't know shit about you or your group. Makes my fucking skin crawl."

"You'll know in due time," Gene says, with an ominous tone, but the longer I sit here, the more I wonder if he's speaking in code or just a fucking creep.

I wouldn't go so far as to think this guy isn't a threat at all, but I don't think he's as dangerous and suspicious as he wants to portray himself. I wouldn't turn my back on the guy, but I don't think he's any more of a threat than some of the other folks in this place.

"What exactly is the job?" Zayne asks.

"We need a driver," Gene answers.

"I can't leave the state," Zayne argues.

"It's local. Pickups and deliveries."

"Company or personal vehicle?" Zayne asks, pointing out the massive pane-glass window. "My parole officer would shit a brick if he showed up for a visit and I had one of those trucks with those stickers on it parked in my driveway. I'm not supposed to be associating with anyone who could get me in trouble."

"We have more discreet vehicles for work," Gene assures him.